Chapter 14
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Encounter - 3
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"Why did you hold back?"
"I..."
Time froze. No one paid any attention to the girl's words. The brute dipped his head, glaring at me as if to say, What are you waiting for? Get lost already, while Yang Zhanhou yawned without a care. It seemed her voice had rung out loud only in my ears.
The girl took a step forward. With that single small step, I instinctively staggered back. Her face was so close now. Just one step, and yet...
A whisper.
So thin it couldn't reach anyone else's ears.
"You wanted to kill me just now, didn't you?"
"...!"
It felt like a sharp needle piercing my heart. Her words swiftly dragged up the emotions I'd just suppressed so expertly.
Humiliation, rage—whatever it was. She was trying to pry it back out. It hurt.
"I... I mean..."
A torrent of words swirled at the tip of my tongue.
What do you know? I'm fourteen, and since then, I've sworn never to fight again. Do you even understand what that means? Why are you spouting off like you get my eight years of hell?
But my tongue trembled, stumbling. No voice came out.
She pressed a finger to her lips. Shh.
And in that soft voice,
she commanded me.
"It's okay. You can run away."
It was an order. Domination. I couldn't resist.
So I didn't answer. I just turned and bolted with everything I had... For some reason, neither the brute nor Flying Pig tried to stop me. From behind, I heard a faint Puhaha chuckle.
Back at the work site, reality dumped its filth on me. The World Dragon's cackling, his sneers flying my way. I bit my lip and averted my gaze as best I could.
It felt like waking from a nightmare—the bad kind. Even though it clearly hadn't been a dream.
And the next day, shocking news arrived.
Flying Pig had been found torn apart and dead.
"I'm telling you, it's true."
Lunchtime.
The sky was clear, the site bustling. Some stacked bricks, others slathered mortar on them.
I hadn't gone to the training grounds. With Flying Pig murdered, the World Dragon was too busy to waste time mocking me. So for the first time in ages, I picked up some manual labor.
I'd been a farmer in normal times, a carpenter in winter. In bad harvest years, folks with skills had to scrape by doing whatever they could.
"My nephew's buddy is a runner, and he said the scene was pure hell that day. Not a man's work—some vicious demon did it."
Chatty old Park kept his mouth flapping nonstop, even as he shoveled food in.
I turned my head, pretending disinterest while eavesdropping.
"That true?"
"Damn right. Blood everywhere, they said. Who knew a body held that much?"
He said it was gruesome enough for yokai rumors to spread.
Limbs ripped off. One arm, mangled like tree roots, jammed in his mouth. Legs severed a full yard from the torso, rolling around.
Definitely a martial artist's doing. An external arts master, no doubt. Only someone who'd deeply trained in hardening their body could tear apart a brute like Flying Pig, with his massive build and solid muscles.
"There's a psycho killer in this city. Remember that similar case? One who only targets martial folks."
As the eyewitness tales turned to ghost stories, I wondered. Did the girl survive?
The thought she might be dead didn't cross my mind. No mention of her body in the gruesome rumors floating around... And for some reason, I had this hazy conviction she wouldn't die.
Then, a foreman bellowed from afar.
"Lunch over! Up! Long way to go before we catch up on air!"
Reality yanked us back. Everyone packed their utensils and trudged heavy-footed toward the half-built pavilion.
A dazzling structure. Talented builders from Jiangming had gathered to raise this behemoth, but we had no place in it. The ones who'd enjoy it were faces I knew all too well. Young masters. And the World Dragon.
Last week, was it? The Dragon-Phoenix Gathering. Young lords and ladies swarming in to bond. In two months, mid-tier sects from Guangdong would hold a fellowship here.
Heroes with their fancy nicknames would flock like clouds.
What would change? Probably nothing.
They'd gather, drink, and drift off on cloud nine without fixing a damn thing. I'd keep groveling under the World Dragon's boot.
I rummaged at my waist. Shook my gourd empty—no booze. Suddenly, the girl's words grazed my heart.
—Want to get strong?
Her words yanked me back to fourteen. A memory so achingly nostalgic it hurt.
A young voice rang out.
"Before the spar, bow!"
Two kids at fourteen cupped fists to each other. Tiny hands overlapped, backs bent crisply. Tai Ling Martial Hall, founded by a lay disciple of the Point Acupoint School—one of the Nine Sects One Gang—always strict on etiquette.
That day's match: World Dragon versus Bai Hui. The hall's top two at that age. Kids buzzed excitedly watching; the pair locked eyes.
"Yah!"
World Dragon struck first. He resented Bai Hui. The kid barely trained, yet matched his skill? No way.
Today, he'd show him. The wooden sword thrust sharp—Day Immortal Main Road, first form of the training set.
Shhwek! The straight, deep stab narrowly missed as the opponent leaped back. No footwork training, but his distance control was a seasoned warrior's.
Bai Hui. Kid from Jiangming's hot fabric shop. Came only twice a week, but his talent undeniable. Even sparked weird rumors.
Word was, a monk visited at his birth, saying he bore the karma of Thousand Kills Star, demanding to see the child.
True or not, his senses were razor-sharp to fuel such talk.
"Tchah! Hah!"
Wooden swords sliced air. World Dragon's kiais echoed across the yard.
Day Immortal Main Road flowed into Returning Valley Flowing Clouds, then Half T'ai Chi techniques, seamless.
The blunt blade curved horizontal, then whipped fast. Fierce, powerful assault.
Thwack! Crack!
Bai Hui looked cornered. Decent blocks, but hard to counter the flashy barrage.
Yet a reversal hid within.
Kids that age lacked fluid form transitions. Even chaining all taught forms had limits against variations.
World Dragon's swordplay leaned too hard on instinct.
And instinct was Bai Hui's domain.
Honestly, spotting the pattern in his flailing attacks was fun.
Once. Twice. Now.
Bai Hui didn't parry back. It was amusing. World Dragon's frustration pissed him off, but more than that, martial arts enthralled him.
Perfect rhythm appeared again. Against the horizontal cut, he arched back; as it returned, raised his sword to block the overhead.
Young eyes darted between World Dragon's gaze and feet. Grasped footwork essence. Gauged next move from left-right foot distance.
Whether bow stance or tiger stance changed the sword path drastically. No kid matched Bai Hui's instincts.
Again, now.
Bai Hui slipped eel-like by a hair. World Dragon, rage boiling over, switched styles. Unlike the hall's clean Point Acupoint energy, savage fury infused the blade. Ooh, kids cheered the new move.
Tian Clan secret sword arts—entry level, forbidden by the instructor as improper.
Didn't matter. Had to crush him to feel better. Drew the wooden sword wide, slashed from shoulder. Fire Ox Charge drew a sharp diagonal.
"Hey, that's cheating!"
"Losing, so cry cheat? Scaredy-cat! Ha!"
Bai Hui couldn't stay relaxed now. Should've countered earlier instead of playing, regret hit first. Onslaught sharpened. Thwack! Thwack! Momentum shifted.
Small eyes hunted victory desperately. Sought gaps amid the haze. But they were tiny.
A Point Acupoint lay disciple's beginner sword for kids couldn't match Tian Clan's battle-tested blades.
Ugh...!
He racked his brain. Twisted his head to widen those gaps somehow.
Could've quit, taken the loss gracefully. But pride, rivalry—and.
"When there's no answer, close your eyes and think hard."
Mother's words when his head hurt helping Father's tough math.
No unsolvable problem, they'd taught. Hold hope, opportunity comes—Father and Mother both said.
Bai Hui trusted them. Didn't want to disappoint. Trusted himself. His senses.
So.
He closed his eyes.
World Dragon's flushed face vanished. Sword's chaos gone. Shifting footwork gone.
Only darkness, and sound. Bai Hui squeezed eyes shut, summoning instinct. A miracle bloomed.
Red trajectories rising quietly in the black world.
Paths showing where the sword went next, best counters. Thin as threads, but viable. Head, throat, solar plexus, waist.
Block. Twist. Dodge, deflect. And thwack!
Crisp wooden clash—Bai Hui's first counter launched. Grabbed the form, shoved it away; sword dove into the gap chillingly.
Long-held strike: swift, fierce. Startled World Dragon dodged sideways frantically.
But his head was full of next attacks. His hasty evade too predictable. Bai Hui, who'd memorized habits, brought the sword down easily.
Thwack—World Dragon's guard crumbled.
One form: arm loosened. Next: sword wobbled. Last three: stole balance dearer than life.
And.
Thud!
Day Immortal Main Road aimed at fallen World Dragon. Bai Hui's sword halted precisely at measure.
Match ended swiftly. World Dragon seemed dominant throughout; Bai Hui exploited tiny flaws. To kids, immortals dancing on clouds—close finish, no ugly loss.
"Good spar."
"You too."
World Dragon clasped Bai Hui's offered hand. Victor raising loser—no hard feelings.
Onlookers agreed: coolly targeting stamina drop was key. World Dragon laughed, calling Bai Hui a prodigy.
"Helping parents daily yet matching my training? Impressive. How?"
"Heh heh. Dunno. Good instincts, maybe."
Sheepish grin, head-scratching boy. Smiles all around.
Victory via Mother's advice—like a fairy tale end.
But I know how it ends. Just hate recalling it. After was pure agony.
Next month, Tian Clan cut ties with our shop. Black Dragon Gate thugs loitering daily. Around then, World Dragon picked fights nonstop.
"Rematch, see who's better." Traps obvious—I fell in.
Fine. I'll lose. Lose, and leave my family alone.
Thus at fifteen, I earned "Divine Sword Hits Ground." Predictably, no honor kept. Family "endure for hope" lasted under three years.
Couldn't relocate—magistrate denied permits. Night escapes foiled by Black Dragon Gate demanding debt repayment.
Father, dreaming of impossible permit, fell to shadowy hands. His usual drink summoned gambling.
End of story.
Learned humans break easy. How the hale crumble to ruin? Father best lesson. Year by year.
Two years later, he hanged himself. No shining father there—just withered gambler swinging like dead wood from the beam.
Unsolvable life. So I squeezed eyes shut. Eight years shut, survived. No thinking.
Effort changes nothing—learned that. Since, strength held no meaning.
—Why did you hold back?
But since her words, impulses surged now and then. Deep in my chest.
I don't know what emotion. Inferiority, guilt, pain—could be anything.
Just then, dark urge to grab that long-discarded sword... Stab anything. Chew on the chilling fancy till I snapped out and fled.
Same when Flying Pig's men beat me. World Dragon's mocks. And now.
"Old fart! Crawl between my legs, maybe I'll spare ya!"
Watching that Tian Clan warrior's antics, the foul impulse rises. I clamp my gaze. Lower my eyes.
Try stuffing down eight years of suppressed feeling...